


Late Night Programing

by Gimme_a_Hand_Scaevola



Category: The Monstrumologist Series - Rick Yancey
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Millenial!AU, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 12:20:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4521759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gimme_a_Hand_Scaevola/pseuds/Gimme_a_Hand_Scaevola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>2015!AU. A more fun reworking of "Things I Will Never Know" wherein both Will Henry and Pellinore Warthrop have been given unnaturally long life by the arawakus infection. Together they brave the strange new world on the 21st Century.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Night Programing

**Author's Note:**

> This story assumes that the ONLY thing the arawakus does is prolong your life, that said, the story begins in 2015 with our canon 19th Century Will and Warthrop.

The insistent buzzing dragged Will Henry begrudgingly out of sleep. Face burrowed into his pillows he reached out and felt for his phone on the nightstand where it rattled harrowingly on the wood. He turned his face up from his nest of bedclothes and swiped it on, then swore when he was blinded by its screen at full brightness. 

Not entirely awake he finagled it into shutting up and collapsed back into bed, the phone in his hand, pulled up under his face. Just as he began falling asleep again the phone began its buzzing anew, jolting him back to wakefulness. 

It being only 3:47 a.m. he felt inclined not to answer it but long years of living with the doctor informed him that it would be a much greater hassle to try to let the call go unanswered. And it was indeed, Pellinore calling him. For who else would it be at this hour? Pellinore’s face blared up at him from the phone screen. Will was rather proud of the picture he had of him. The doctor, none too good at controlling his new age technology had accidentally turned on the front camera and taken a particularly startled and unflattering picture of himself before he had demanded that Will “Get that damned electronic correspondence program for him.” 

He swiped to accept the call and, as he had learned from experience, held the phone a foot from his ear. 

“WILL HENRY!” Pellinore Warthrop’s voice exploded from the device.

After the initial blast of noise, Will layed the phone against his ear and murmured groggily, “Wha’dya want Pell, it’s the middle of the night?” 

“Will Henry, why have you answered none of my missives? I require your services, come downstairs at once.” 

Will groaned, “Can’t it wait til morning?”

“No, it absolutely cannot, Will Henry, how much sleep do you need? This is of utmost importance and I will not be ignored. And do not attempt to tell me that you did not see my missives, I sent the last at 3:41 and it says that you received it-”

Seeing the brewings of a true Pellinore Warthrop diatribe, Will enacted what he considered the best part of the 21st century and hit the mute button on his phone. Pellinore wouldn’t notice for another ten or fifteen minutes and Will would be able to get a few more minutes of sleep in peace. 

The minutes he thought that he had earned himself disappeared entirely too fast and his brief reacquaintance with sleep was cut short by the thundering of Pellinore coming up the stairs to the bedroom. 

“WILL HENRY!” He shouted, slamming open the door. 

Will burrowed deeper under the blankets, “Just come to bed, Pell,” he groaned. 

“Will Henry, snap to,” he barked, “Do you think that I roused you for my own vanity?” 

Will turned his head up, squinting into the light from the door, “Yeah, I do.” 

“Get up, Will Henry!” he continued, wrenching the blankets off of him. 

Assaulted by the cold and wearing only boxers Will’s body flinched into a ball and he dug himself back under the mass of pillows. 

“This is an emergency, Will Henry, get up now, I demand it.” 

Finally succumbing, Will sat up. His hair stuck up in all directions and half of his face was red where it had lain against the mattress, “Ok, ok, I’m up. What do you want, Warthrop?” 

“I need you to come downstairs. I have discovered something of utmost importance. It cannot wait.” 

Will dragged himself out of bed he scooped up his favorite t-shirt that lay crumpled on the floor next to the bed where he had left it only a few hours before. It was an incredibly faded and threadbare Joan Jett tour shirt. It was also the most comfortable thing he had ever owned. And he insisted that he owned it. Pellinore seemed to think that it had originally been his and stole the shirt for his own use as often as he could. Each time this occurred Will vehemently told Pellinore that they had both gone to that concert and he remembered in vivid detail that the doctor had spent thirty minutes arguing with the unfortunate sales girl at the merchandise stand for overcharging for t-shirts and bought nothing. In reality, Will had no idea if the shirt had been his or Pellinore’s originally but he was not about to give up the fight now.

“Come on, Will Henry!” 

Will took a single step out of the carpeted bedroom into the hardwood floored hall and scooted back, retrieving his slippers and then returning to Pellinore’s impatient side. He followed the doctor down the stairs and into their living room. As for the doctor himself, Pellinore was dressed only small steps more than Will. He had not changed from his dress socks from the day which caused him to slip every few steps on the hardwood floor. His slacks he had lost sometime during the night and Will was sure he would find them later abandoned in the library. Hanging over his boxers was Will’s absolute favorite of Pellinore’s shirts. Not that he would ever say so, but the sheer number of combined hours Pellinore had worn it marked it as one of his own favorites. 

It had been a gift from Will for Christmas of 2004, he’d spent quite some time designing it on one of those websites that let you print up your own shirts. He modelled it after a University's shirt but instead of the name of a school it said “THE MONSTRUMOLOGIST SOCIETY” and beneath that “ALUMNUS.” These days the there were holes in the collar and in the cuffs but Pellinore would not hear a word about either its replacement or its destruction. 

“Will, look at this! Will Henry are you looking?” 

Will indeed looked up at where the doctor was frantically pointing. He had the TV paused at what might have been the most incredible thing William James Henry had ever seen in all his one hundred and thirty nine arawakus lengthened years. He tried valiantly to match the look of revulsion and indignation on Pellinore’s face, but he could not. He erupted in hooting laughter, clutching at his sides and, after a moment, slipping to the floor. 

“It is not funny, William James Henry,” Pellinore snarled, “It is an affront not only to my work but to your own!” 

The post commercial caption was still scrolled across the bottom of the screen, announcing what was playing. “Monster Hunters: Werewolves of Wisconsin.” But that was not the best part. The best part was the animated quill that had scrawled old timey script across a stylized parchment to give a quotation that Will could only assume they had used to backup their claims of midwestern lycanthropes. 

‘ _The werewolf is as real as the wendigo or the vampire, which is to say that..they have lived among myth and legend for time immemorial but beyond which there is... cause for a scientist such as yourself who claims such expertise in the field of monstrumology and has tutored under one of the most renowned scientists of our age to regard them as creatures based wholly in fact. What wood’s have you been to that you have heard them howling or seen their regaled transformation? I would appreciate enlightenment on the factual backing of your claim....A discovery....such as this would forever alter the field of Monstrumology. - Doctor Pellinore Warthrop, 1894”_

Warthrop howled, “I am being misquoted, Will Henry, there are excisements to that quotation that alter it entirely! My final questions were intended to be scathing and sarcastic, Will Henry! They are using a defiled quotation from a private letter to strengthen a ridiculous and illogical hypothesis!” 

Will tried to rein in his laughter, “Come on, Pell, your work is on TV, that’s cause for celebration.” 

Pellinore’s face was livid with anger, which really only made Will’s predicament worse. 

Will reached up and pushed a wayward strand of the doctor’s hair out of his eyes, “No one takes this show seriously anyway, Pell,” he said soothingly, “For god’s sake it’s on at four in the morning.” 

“That is not the point, Will Henry.” 

Will dropped onto the sofa, pulling Warthrop down with him. Will put his feet up on the coffee table and snuggled into the corner of the couch. He tugged Pellinore until he was reclining against his chest, although he still scowled angrily. 

Will ran his fingers soothingly through Pellinore’s hair, “Remember when we saw that documentary that said Marie Curie ‘ _took part_ in an experiment with radiation?’ Or the one that said that Edison discovered electricity?” 

The scowl abating somewhat Pellinore looked up at Will, obviously waiting for him to further mollify him through a continued stroking of his ego. 

Will tilted his head to the side and kissed Pellinore’s brow, “So you’ve got another thing in common with a nobel prize winning physicist and Thomas Edison, shall we add it to the list?” 

Pellinore quirked an eyebrow, “You keep a list of the commonalities between myself and renowned scientists?” 

Will tugged his hair, “It was a figure of speech, of course I don’t.” 

“You ought to.” 

Will ignored this and picked up the remote to flip to something more innocuous. He found a rerun of the evenings TMZ which Pellinore nursed a soft spot for. They watched in silence for a few minutes before Pellinore said, “My automobile is making that sound again, Will Henry.”

“The clicking?” 

“Yes, I thought you told me you had fixed it.” 

Will sighed, “It might be out of my depth, I’ll take it in tomorrow.”

Almost before he had finished speaking Pellinore carried on, “Speaking of automobiles, Will Henry, the most recent statistical data suggests that a person is thirty four times more likely to be killed driving a motorcycle than a passenger car.” 

“That’s fascinating, Pell,” Will said idly. 

“You ought to sell yours.” 

“We’ve been over this, Pellinore, I like my motorcycle.” 

“It is too dangerous.” 

Will laughed, “You sent me alone into a den of monsters when I was eleven and a motorcycle is too dangerous?” 

“I like you better now,” he paused for a long moment but Will had no rejoinder, the he said resolutely, “I’ve bought you a helmet.” 

“I don’t want to wear a helmet, I’m a grown man.” 

“You will wear the helmet, Will Henry, or I shall make your life a living hell and if you do not believe me capable of-”

Will cut him off, “No, no, I know you’re capable of that, I’ll wear the helmet.” 

Again, they lapsed into silence watching the show that Will considered light pollution, but Pellinore considered delightful. 

“Oh, don’t forget we’re going to that barbeque tomorrow,” Will said. 

Pellinore scoffed, “I have no interest in wasting my time at such a frivolous nonsensical outing.” 

“We’re going,” Will said with finality.

“Why must you insist that we spend our time at meaningless social events?” 

“Because we’re good neighbors.” 

“I have no inclination to be a good neighbor.” He paused then said, “I will not wear short pants.”

Will rolled his eyes, “If you wear trousers you’ll be too hot and you’ll spend the entire time complaining.” 

Pellinore nestled closer to Will and turned away from him, staring with crossed arms at the television. In a muffled voice he said, “I will spend the entire time complaining regardless of what I am wearing.” 

Will really did laugh at that and turned Pellinore’s face up to kiss him. Pellinore twisted his body to more readily accommodate the display of affection then rose to his feet, “Come on, Will, we ought to go to bed. If you fall asleep here you will get a crick in your neck and I shall never hear the end of it.” 

“Hang on,” Will said and he clicked at the remote for few minutes.

“Whatever for, Will Henry?” 

“I’m making sure that werewolf show recorded.” 

Pellinore’s sour face returned, “Whatever for?” 

Will grinned, “So I can burn it to DVD and get that screenshot as a framed poster.” 

Pellinore, resolute, towed Will upstairs and back to bed, where Will collapse gratefully back onto the mattress. Pellinore stripped off his sweatshirt and crawled into bed after Will, pulling the covers over both of them. 

Will curled up on his side and tried to pull Pellinore’s arm around him. 

“Turn the other way, Will Henry.”

“No,” Will argued, “It’s your turn to be the big spoon.” 

“It most certainly is not, turn over.” 

“Just come here, Pell.” 

Pellinore huffed, “Do not force me to begin to take records of who bears the burden of being the dominant sleeping partner.” 

“You texted me seventeen times at two in the morning, Pell, I earned it.” 

“If we are basing the task on merit than I believe that merely living beside you each day would earn me the right every time we came to bed.” 

Will groaned and turned over, pulling Pellinore against his chest and tucking his arms around him. In a sleepy grumbled he said, “I’m not agreeing with you, I just want you to shut up.” 

Pellinore shifted himself until he was cozily nestled against Will then pulled Will’s hand toward his mouth to press a kiss against his fingers, “Goodnight, Will.” 

Will returned the kiss the Pellinore’s back and murmured against his skin, “Night, Pell.”


End file.
